Set Them Free
by ElizaXSpears
Summary: Normally, helping a spirit pass on to a peaceful afterlife, was, well, it wasn't easy, but it certainly didn't cause a hassle, but Eric never met a ghost as stubborn as William T. Spears


**_Chapter 1_**

"Oh, thank you so very much for coming!"

The woman shook his hand enthusiastically and he replied with a nod and smile. "Ah, ye called an' paid sae I'm here." He replied, pulling his hand from hers.

The woman smiled sheepishly then turned her attention to the mansion, she, along with most her family past and present, had been finally been kicked out from. The house was one of those clichéd old gothic Victorian styled mansions. Old, the green moss scaling the outside walls, the long stone pathway leading up to large double doors, the large windows, the stone architecture, a cemetery as its backyard, especially the big iron black gates that prevented anyone from trespassing, save the owner who possessed the keys.

The man she was speaking too was a Mister Eric Slingby with an almost unhealthy obsession for ancient buildings, especially the ones that had a history of terrible happenings as that was what made him his living. He wouldn't call himself a paranormal investigator but more like someone to help spirts with their unfinished business to pass to the other side. It didn't pay well but he'd rather be broke then wealthy doing something he hated. "I hope this isn't too much for you." She said. "I know it's a big place but my husband and I have finally given in and left."

Eric set down his baggage, inside a few clothes, toiletries and such to keep him satisfied for a week. True, this home was larger than the places he was used to visiting, such as the old theater back in his hometown where an actress threw herself from the upper walkway for not getting the lead role in a play. "I think I can handle it." He replied with almost childlike excitement in his eyes.

"Wonderful!" she gestured with her hand. "Come with me and I'll give you the quick tour." Eric followed her inside, the home just as grand as it was outside with a high ceiling and two grand staircases that lead up to the second floor, a hall separating the two stairways lined with old paintings. "Alright, so, this is the sitting room." She explained as they entered a doorway off to the side of the large entryway. "This place is normally untouched but if we step through here," she continued as they passed through another doorway into a grand library with many bookshelves all lined to the brim with both old and new books, a large fireplace also present with two chairs facing it, "we've had more than a few books thrown at us or the fire goes out when we just lit it."

Eric set his suitcase next to one of the dark brown winged armchairs by the fireplace, before folding his arms over his chest to glance around the room. "Well, we're alone now. Dun see anyone."

"I'm sure you will eventually. We often feel them watching us."

Eric cocked his head. "They?"

Again, her sheepish smile returned, her hand fiddling with the sleeve of her black rain coat. "Well, yes. Them, they…there's more than one spirit here."

"An' 'ow many are there?"

"We can guess four. We've seen glimpses of three and heard the fourth."

"Wha's the fourth said?"

"We'll get to that when we enter his room."

Eric nodded, continuing to follow the woman through the home. They passed through the grand dining room and to the kitchen. "And here we've had knives stabbed into the counters or the cupboards thrown open."

Eric nodded. "Aye, can see the marks." He observed, running fingers over the obvious stab indents in the wood. "'ave they tried tae use a knife on ye?"

"No. Well, once but we're sure it wasn't meant to harm us, just frighten us."

"Mm." From the kitchen she lead Eric down the hall between the stairs, through the door that lead to the ballroom which hadn't been used in many, many years. It was dusty, cobwebbed and unkempt unlike the rest of the house. "Ye ne'er go in 'ere?"

"Never. We have no need too and we here strange sounds, almost like there is a ball taking place when it's exactly like this, empty.

"I see." Eric strode over to the next door. "An' in 'ere?"

"Music room. Again, another place we don't go because the grand piano likes to play itself."

"Righ'…"

"Now come with me and I'll show you upstairs."

Again, Eric took up following the woman around and he was shown to the drawing room, the study, the billiard room, and gallery and finally to the bedrooms the home retain. Two large bedrooms and three smaller rooms, one of the smaller rooms their last stop. Inside, was nothing out of the ordinary; old looking wallpaper and bedding, chipped dresser and nightstands with a silver ornate standing mirror beside an empty, paint splattered easel. "Wha' was 'ere?" Eric asked, stepping to the easel. "Did ye see a paintin'?"

"We didn't, no. The person we bought it from told us they moved it someplace. We're not sure if it's the attic or basement but we certainly don't go into either. We've heard a lot of horrible stories about people going into the basement and having wine bottles thrown at them and my husband and I have heard someone running above us in the attic." She sighed. "But this is also the room we heard the fourth spirit. He doesn't speak, but we've heard him weep."

"Cryin', huh?"

"Mm hm." She swallowed. "My husband was brave enough to stay a night in this room after the third night we heard the crying but he ran out after he was shoved from the bed and the easel was thrown to the ground…believe it or not, this spirit is probably the nicest."

Eric nodded. "An' do ye 'ave an idea who the meanest is?"

"Oh, we do." She led Eric to the master bedroom. "This is _his_ room." She said, Eric noticing how she refused to step foot inside. "We've been physically hurt here, everyone has. My husband especially has been hit and pushed, we've had the door slammed on us and any picture we used to have of our family, either on the walls or on a surface, was smashed."

Eric stepped into the room, sensing an angry wave of energy wash over him. This certainly wasn't a safe place. "I'll stay in 'ere fer the week."

"What? That's not a good idea Mr. Slingby."

Eric crossed his arms, strolling over to the bed and plopping down on it. "If 'e wants tae get physically, he can bloody well face me. Man tae…ah, ghost, I guess."

"Well, that's brave of you."

And Eric was shown the rest of home, the way to get into the attic and basement as well as the backyard cemetery before they stood outside the front steps, a man joining them. "Alright Mary. Our hotel room is set up so whenever you're ready to leave."

"Now then, but first, Jack, this is Eric."

"Hello." Jack greeted.

"Hey." He returned the greeting with a shake of his hand. "Hopefully I'll be done by the end o' the week an' ye two can move back in."

"Well, there's no rush." He put his arm around her shoulders. "As long as we can move back into a ghost free house, we'll be happy."

"Ah, 'm sure it'll only be a week."

"Then we'll be off. Good luck and be careful." Mary said.

"Dun worry about me lass." Eric gave a short wave as they gathered into the black SUV and drove away leaving Eric alone at this old mansion in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a large dense forest and bog.

With a deep breath, he returned to the grand entryway, closing the door and locking it after he stepped inside. "Alright." He said, standing in the center of the grand foyer. "'m gonna be stayin' 'ere fer a week an' 'm gonna try an' help all o' ye sae I want ye tae show yerselves, alrigh'?" he stood still a moment before returning to the library to collect his things when he found his suitcase open and his clothes thrown about. "Well, is tha' how yer gonna greet yer guest?" he murmured, picking up his things.

As he closed and latch his suitcase back up, he jumped when a book zoomed past him, nearly hitting him directly in the forehead. "Ye get tae work fast." He approached the book, lifting it. "I said 'm 'ere tae help ye an' if this is the ghost tha' gets physical, least show yerself first." After closing up the book and setting it aside, he made his way upstairs to the bedroom he was staying in. He spent a good few minutes unpacking then sitting on the bed, waiting and listening.

With his eyes closed, he was able to hear the footsteps above him, the creaking of floorboards down the hall, the gentle whimpers of someone from the room across from him, the tumbling of books downstairs and the crashing of silver wear in the kitchen as the drawer was yanked from the cupboard. "Ye've already started, huh?" he opened his eyes and though he'd seen many spirits in his time on the earth, the sudden translucent face before him caused him to shout and jump back, inevitably making him fall off the bed. "Ow." He winced, rubbing the back of his head. "Ye gotta be the nice one, aye?" he asked but as he sat up to face the spirit, he had gone and Eric only caught a glimpse of a pale face, faded brown hair and faded blue eyes. "Thanks." He grumbled.

Well, there wasn't much to do now but acquaint himself a little more with the home. He cleaned up the kitchen from the silverware, checked each room to try and find a spirt then left outside to the cemetery. He had no names but when he was dealing with spirits, he liked to pay his respects to the graves and normally when he did, names would pop out at him, like this one. "Grell Sutcliffe." He mused, kneeling by the gravestone. "Beloved son." He set his hand on the tombstone. "Yer one o' the spirits inside, yeah?" then a chill ran up his spine and he spun around, seeing another figure standing in the room he was staying in, staring out at him through the window, his form oddly more solid then the other ghost he'd seen as he could clearly make out black hair and green eyes and an awful scowl before he faded from sight. "Ah, sae yer the mean one."

Eventually he returned to the house and to the library, skimming the shelves to see if he could find one involving a Grell Sutcliffe or any history on the house. Yes, Mary told him quite a bit but nothing really about the history. "All old books aren't stored here…their upstairs."

Eric paused in reading one of the books he picked out. He glanced up, turning his head to the side and saw the same spirit who'd startled him earlier. His clothing was rather nice but if Eric didn't know any better, he would have looked like a commoner back in the day then someone who lived in such a high class mansion. "Who are ye?" he asked, closing up the book to give his full attention to the spirt.

Though the ghost was reluctant to really say anything, he did reply. "Alan…Alan Humphries."

"Ah, Alan. Nice tae meet ye."

Suddenly Alan's head snapped up from its bowing positon staring at the floor. "Wait…you… _can_ hear me?"

"Aye, I can." he offered a gentle smile. "Me names Eric an' since I was little, I could see, an' talk tae, ghosts."

"A-Amazing!" though Eric could see Alan was still hesitant, he carefully walked forward, his body giving off wisps of white smoke, the area getting colder and colder as Alan approached. "Then…you are here to help us?"

"Yep." He stored away the book back in its spot. "'m gonna try an' help all o' ye."

"…you…you will?"

"Try, yeah."

Alan gave a tired but thankful smile. "Then, you have to see the others, right? I'm sure…the two of them will be so happy."

"Two? Mary said there were four o' ye."

"There is…but the fourth…he's very…stubborn and he won't show himself to you unless…unless he's really angry." He glided past Eric, unintentionally showing Eric his cause of death, a bullet to the back of the head with blood staining the back of his hair and neck, the white of his collar. "Come. I'll show you…Ronald and Grell." Eric chose to say nothing about the wound, instead following Alan the best he could considering the spirit decided to ghost through walls to get to his destination but eventually he found Alan with two other spirts in the drawing room. One was with long red hair and hazel eyes, pale skin as well but with ugly, hand shaped, bruises along his neck the other with blonde-black two tone hair and darker blue eyes but his skin and lips both had a blue tint to him, like Alan white wisps came off their bodies. "This is Eric." Alan said. "He's…going to help us."

Eric watched red head stand and go to hug him but paused short. "You will?" he asked.

"'m gonna try, yep."

"Oh, thank you so much darling. It's been dreadful being stuck here. I'm Grell by the way and this is our little one, Ronald."

"…I'm not l-little." Ronald muttered. "I was n-nineteen when…yeah."

"To us you are dear." He pat Ronald's cheek. Grell then turned back to Eric. "How do you plan to help us?"

"Well, first, I need tae know 'ow ye all died." Instantly, Eric could feel the atmosphere in the room change. Loneliness, pain, sadness, betrayal, those were the feelings he felt crash over him. "I know, I know 's no' a nice topic, but it's wha' I need tae know."

"…I was shot." Alan spoke up first. "You…you could probably see that, but someone shot me in the back of my head."

"Do ye know who?" Eric asked, placing himself on one of the sofas.

"No. I was too busy with my painting to realize anyone had come in…the next thing I remember was hearing a gun then waking up to this empty house then seeing my funeral in the backyard."

"Paintin'? Ye're the painter with the easel?"

"Yes. It wasn't done and I don't know where they put it."

"Mm." he turned to Grell. "Ye?"

"I was strangled obviously." He huffed, pointing to his neck. "Some loon from my lovers family didn't see me fit to marry their son so they came here and killed me…they even stole my beloved ring my darling gave to me not even a day before." He frowned at his bare hand. "I miss it."

Again, Eric gave a nod. "An' ye Ronald?"

Ronald shifted a moment before he spoke. "I froze." He answered. "I-I was on my way to deliver a letter to my family that I had to pick up at the post office. It was going to save my h-home before we lost it from having not enough m-money to pay tax and I ended up caught in a blizzard and died on these s-steps." He hugged himself, shivering violently. "I'm cold and I was never able t' deliver my family the letter…they probably lost t-the house."

"Do ye still 'ave it?"

"Yes. The people who lived here at the time kept it in a trunk that's in the attic. They didn't bother t' send it for me."

"An' wha' about the other spirit 'ere? Who's he? I saw 'im in the window an' tha's it."

"William is his name." Grell answered. "He's the one who hates anyone living here as his family was the original builders of the home. This is Spears soil but he resents the fact after he killed himself, his father sold the home. Even when we were alive, living here, we could feel his presence, couldn't we Alan?"

Alan nodded. "Yes. He made sure…we knew he didn't like us…here."

"An' why won't 'e talk tae me."

"He doesn't t-t' any of us." Ronald said. "He likes t-t' be in his room. A-Alone."

"Mm."

"And you…living in that room for a week…he won't like it." Alan said. "He'll…he'll make sure to kick you…out."

"Well, 'e's gonna 'ave tae." He stood, glancing at his watch. "An' from the looks o' thin', 's nearly ten an' if 'm gonna start fixin' everything' t'morrow, 'm gonna 'ave tae get some sleep."

"Goodnight." The three said in unison before fading from Eric's sight.

Eric made his way toward his bedroom for the week and dressed down into his nightclothes. He pulled back the blankets and crawled into bed, shutting off the light. This wasn't the first time he slept in a haunted home but tonight felt different, like he was in some sort of trouble.

He tossed and turned for the better part of the night before he sat up, glancing at his watch on the nightstand. Nearly midnight. "Hm." He hummed. Perhaps the reason why he couldn't sleep was he hadn't met the fourth ghost yet. So he stood from the bed and did something he knew wasn't right. He began to provoke the spirt. He started simple, throwing a pillow to the floor then the next one. When that didn't work, he went bigger, throwing off the blankets then finally, when the spirit still hadn't made himself know, he upturned the entire bed, pausing when he found small chest underneath it, caked in dust.

As he knelt to pick it up, he was suddenly pushed back by the spirt that appeared abruptly in front of him. "Damn it." He groaned. "Thanks. Second time I hit me head t'day."

"Do not touch this box." He heard the spirit sneer. Eric sat up, now fully getting a look at the spirt. What he wasn't able to see from outside was the blood that covered the spirts entire right side, from his head to his shoes, black wisps smoking off him as he held an aura purely made of hatred. " _Never_ touch this box."

"Alright, alright." He stood. "'m Eric an-"

Eric jumped as the spirt flashed right in front of him. "I do not need you to help me."

"Why?"

"If I am freed, who will protect my home? No one."

"This isn't yer home any-"

"It will always be mine! My father built it, my mother spent all she had to buy the best in everything, I jumped to keep this mansion in my family name! I will not let any of you take it!"

"Wha' makes ye sae attached tae this place?"

"Die and then I'll speak with you."

Again, just like Alan had before, as quickly as he'd come, he'd gone leaving Eric stunned. He stared to the box and against what William had told him, picked it up, unfortunately though, it needed a key. "Damn." He frowned, placing the box on the dresser. After, he fixed the bed and pulled the blankets over him. It was official now; he'd need more than a week to help all of them.

* * *

 **Just going to be a short little thing with ghosts and stuff for Halloween! Hopefully this is enjoyable so I do you hope enjoy!**


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